THIS BLOG IS ABOUT 7" RECORDS ONLY. YOU CAN NEVER HAVE TOO MANY. EVERY SONG IS CONVERTED TO MP3 FROM MY PERSONAL 45 COLLECTION, AND THERE'S NOT ONE THAT I WOULDN'T RECOMMEND YOU SEEKING OUT. ANY COPYRIGHT HOLDERS WHO DON'T WANT THEIR MUSIC HEARD HERE JUST LET ME KNOW, AND DOWN IT WILL COME. CLICK ON ANY IMAGE TO ENLARGE.

Deciding to clean every number and letter contact in my Seeburg with alcohol and a cotton swab – by hand no less – is not at all within my character, but having let a jukebox tab slip between the speakers and turntable track basically necessitated the surgery, and ultimate sense of responsibility.

You see, I’ve had this baby, a pink, aqua and chrome Seeburg 222, one of my most cherished possessions, going on thirty years. And it still works like a charm. I dread the day this machine goes dead, as I’ve no idea where or to whom I need go for a fixing.

What I didn’t realize was F2, so caked with crud, hadn’t played in God knows how long. F2 in this case was ‘Stars Fell On Alabama’, by Cannonball Adderley & John Coltrane.

Now I remember exactly where this particular single was purchased: Two Guys Department Store, just off Route 81 in Syracuse, quite close to Thruway exit 36. They always had stacks on 10 for $1 cutout 7′s in large tubs for the sickos amongst us to paw through.

Corinne was in a very 40′s Silver Screen phase and pulled out loads of Judy Garland, Julie London, Eydie Gorme and even Keely Smith titles, boning up on our camp catalog. Well done.

I bought four copies of this one, there were so few Limelight singles that the stock sleeves were worth a dime each to me even then in ’74.

When I realized it had been ages since the single played in the box, I decided to pull a clean copy from the library – and sure enough, sticker still intact to prove the above remembrance, it sounded superb. This coming from a general non-fan of brass instruments by the way.

‘Stars Fell On Alabama’ is quite frankly the perfect va-va-va-voom record, the kind of song playing in a dive bar when a cheap perfume drenched Betty Page type in tight gold pedal pushers and fuck me heels is leaning over the jukebox making three choices for the quarter her sugar daddy had just inserted into the slot, if you will.